The Top 200 Albums of the 2000s: 50-21

A few things happened at the beginning of the decade that made people wonder if albums would still matter in 2009. There was Napster, which, as New Year's Day 2000 hit, was already a few months old and only getting bigger. And then, a little over a year and a half later, the iPod emerged, vastly improving the experience of listening to mp3s. For some, these new technologies signaled the end of the long-playing record as we knew it. The single was back! People-- especially kids-- wanted to shuffle and experience one track at a time. The only question for the album, then, was when it would finally breathe its last breath.

It didn't quite work out that way, though. There was some truth to the predictions, of course-- single tracks do matter a whole lot (we covered 500 of the best of them from the decade here), CD sales are way down compared to 10 years ago-- but the album as a format is still indispensable. As it turns out, allowing artists the freedom to write, record, sequence, and present music in 30- to 60-minute chunks still has value; it's a good structure to organize listening around. And in assembling our list of Top 200 Albums of the Decade, which we're going to be counting down all week, we were reminded of how much vital music was made during this time. We've put together albums lists for the 1970s, 80s, and 90s, and the music we're going to present here stands up to any of these decades.

So let's get to it: You've read and listened to the tracks, read essays about developments in technology, pop, noise, and indie, watched the videos, heard what the artists thought, and taken in our recap of the big events. Now, concluding our P2K coverage of the 2000s, it's time for the Top 200 Albums. Please note that, in the interest of keeping the list broad, we capped the number of albums for any given artist at three.

Pop music is often escapist, dwelling on the weakness of the flesh-- but usually not like the songs of Deerhunter, where bodies are fevered, insubstantial, and frail. On Microcastle, a ringing set of crashing guitars, chimes, and squalls of noise, people are literally wasting away in six-by-six cells surrounded by concrete. Some are crucified in front of their friends, and drunken children torch an old man in his own garage. But this imagery isn't for shock value; it's about escape. Deerhunter's musical aesthetic-- partially composed of smeared sounds and unstable footings-- proves a beautiful companion to uncertain lyrics. On tracks like "Little Kids" or "Never Stops", a framework of driving rhythms and gorgeous melodies is lit up with tracers of noise and feedback. Deerhunter sounds tighter and more fragile than ever on Microcastle, able to sweep up listeners in a tempest of hazy, anxious joy. --Patrick Sisson

49. Antony & the JohnsonsI Am a Bird Now[Secretly Canadian; 2005]

The downtown art scene of late 20th century New York left such an impression on the city, it was hard to imagine any artist in the 2000's could touch on it without sounding like a nostalgia act. But Antony Hegarty confronted that gender-blurring heritage-- think Andy Warhol's Factory, Lou Reed's 1970s androgyny, the 80s cabaret scene-- to create something both reverent and new. Even more daringly, he opened with a showstopper, the devastating "Hope There's Someone". But the rest of the album answers that call, exploring complex issues of identity, mortality, and companionship with the guiding light of simple emotion. Antony's performance-art pedigree gave his history lesson credibility, attracting contributions from icons like Reed and Boy George. But his breathtaking voice and laser-like vision transcend time and place. Every sentiment on I Am a Bird Now comes through loud and clear-- even if you know nothing about New York. --Marc Masters

48. The Hold SteadySeparation Sunday[Frenchkiss; 2005]

From the album's very beginning-- an unaccompanied vocal that ends with a joke it takes a few listens to get-- you know Separation Sunday is for the lyric geeks. So there are maybe a few less sing-alongs; instead, we get barrages of noir-worthy imagery and singer Craig Finn's preoccupations with over-the-counter highs, Christianity, seedy characters, and the bars, churches, and river camps where they meet. The music is as bar-ready as ever, but rather than the big choruses they'd later trade in, Separation Sunday's memorable moments are stray licks, half-slurred lyrical asides, and the disarming bridges of tracks like "Banging Camp" or "Multitude of Casualties", all of which shine brighter than the songs that surround them. There's no typical ebb-and-flow album sequencing here, no breathers, slow jams, or bathroom breaks: Every moment of the record aims to be the best moment. --Jason Crock

47. Joanna NewsomThe Milk-Eyed Mender[Drag City; 2004]

She wafted in like a hippie but sang about the pitfalls of poetry. She wrote like a poet but praised the birds for their illiterate flight. Her brave wail betrayed her age and her simple instrumentation-- harp and voice, mostly-- betrayed how hard the music probably was to play. The record was a breeze for the first 20 seconds. Then she started singing. You either craned your head toward the sound or you left the porch. Her whimsy was obvious and her word choice was, well-- let's say that "boat" doesn't work because only "caravel" rhymes with "beetle shell." (I kept the dictionary out after that.) She warped soft acoustic music into art-- neither "freak" nor "folk," just a harpist with a good imagination. The puns were an aside to remind us she wasn't a stiff. Her debut-- to paraphrase author Ben Marcus on the subject of experimental fiction-- didn't compete with paintball for attention; it ferreted out sensitive folks for whom lyric analysis is as spiritually gratifying as dancing. She deserved us and we needed her, puffy sleeves and all. --Mike Powell

46. The ShinsChutes Too Narrow[Sub Pop; 2003]

Behind James Mercer's melodious whimper and his band's polite folk-rock is some unheralded meanness-- hard-hearted thoughts on relationships; songs that sit like oval pegs in round holes, filled with detours and hiccups. Mercer writes thoughtfully about art and Utopianism but treats a new crush like she's a game he lost to his erection. He buries a wimp's anger in tangled words and unexpected codas. But it's catchy and it's pretty, so I have to assume that people listen selectively.

In 2003, it was hard to find a big indie band that played quite as safely as the Shins. Most of the songs on Chutes were around three minutes long, and it didn't sound like there were too many overdubs. No bhangra breakdowns, no "electronic manipulations." It starts with a false start and ends with the sound of thunder-- and between, the band scrapes at its own self-imposed limitations in a hundred great little ways. --Mike Powell

45. FugaziThe Argument[Dischord; 2001]

The members of Fugazi spent most of the decade working on other projects, but the one time they came together to make an album, they made one for the ages. The Argument is the band's most nuanced and melodic record, and possibly its best. The refined approach doesn't come at the expense of intensity, though-- some of the record's most harrowing moments are its quietest, and the album finds the band learning that a whisper can rage as powerfully as a shout. Outside of the masterful anti-eminent domain statement "Cashout", the record is indirect about its politics without sounding uncommitted, and the band takes its narratives of personal and societal turmoil on wild rides through complex arrangements featuring intricate interplay and unexpected shifts. If we ever get another Fugazi album, it'll be welcome, but if we don't, The Argument is a perfect swan song: accomplished, righteous, challenging, and totally vital. --Joe Tangari

44. D'AngeloVoodoo[Virgin; 2000]

Musically a triumph of hands-on, real-time, old-school soul minimalism, Voodoo is simultaneously tough as old wood and as fragile as a smoke ring. But it's D'Angelo that makes the album something more than the work of talented young turks neck-deep in classic records. Save the breathtaking single, each vocal performance on Voodoo is a subdued, almost conversational marvel. The phrasing is as idiosyncratic as any great singer you may think he's homaging; you can't imagine anyone else squeezing the dangerously wordy chorus of "The Root" into such a shiver-inducing, fluid rush. The delivery, tending more toward a murmur, has an almost unbearable intimacy-- maybe the most erotically tactile singing put to disc this decade. --Jess Harvell

43. LuomoVocalcity[Force Tracks; 2000]

In seconds, we're off. Lost in a labyrinthine maze of compulsive deep house in which every synth spurt, each softly tearing hi-hat seems to plug into your body like acupuncture. Perhaps better than any other dance album this decade, Vocalcity blurs the line between process and product: when "Class" coalesces from a sea of continental shelf bass and disembodied and dissected sighs into a tremulously romantic diva refrain, it's like watching cells multiplying to create a life form. But don't just stand there watching: producer Sasu Ripatti doesn't merely want you to dance, he wants to make dancing the only possible response. As expansive as they are, these aching grooves come on like snapshots of much longer, broader epics whose tantric possibilities are unnerving-- if Vocalcity in fact stretched on forever, what dancer could bear to stop? Luomo provides the soundtrack; you bring the red shoes. --Tim Finney

42. Grizzly BearVeckatimest[Warp; 2009]

A triumph of craftsmanship, the 12 tracks of Veckatimest click and whirr at a deliberate tempo, like a clock tower in a town square. Even the slightest of vocal snippets gets shaped and sanded down with care-- the only maybes are on the lyric sheet. And like those triumphant timepieces, it's the dozen variations on a scene-- instruments and effects rearranging themselves-- that make things intriguing. Contrast is the key; beautiful vocal harmonies, such as the peeling-like-bells choir kicking off "Dory", can be a flourish of sound or the longed-for release. Deceptively simple guitar melodies, spiked by sharp notes or riffs, let you know every turn was planned two songs in advance. Talent in music is often measured by extreme gestures, but Grizzly Bear's greatest skill may be making small moves sound massive. --Patrick Sisson

41. BurialUntrue[Hyperdub; 2007]

Burial's masterful second album Untrue seems a mass of contradictions. Although the world now knows Burial to be the work of London dubstep producer William Bevan, Untrue remains faceless and largely anonymous, yet also acutely personal and introspective. It is unconditionally linked to both its place of origin (South London), and to a specific musical lineage that traces back through UK garage, yet it has deeply resonated with listeners regardless of physical or musical geography. Though his jittery rhythms and brooding atmospheres are endlessly captivating, Burial's distinctive treatment of vocal samples provide Untrue much of its enduring fascination. Manipulated and detuned, the disembodied voices that populate the likes of "Etched Headplate" or "Shell of Light" sound uniformly lost and heartsick, their half-heard pleas ("I can't take no more tears," "Please hurry and find me") repeating helplessly into the night like residual hauntings. Yet despite Untrue's immersive melancholy the album never becomes oppressive-- on the contrary, Burial's moody, evocative dubstep has an allure that always beckons the listener for one more lonely walk beneath its flickering streetlights. --Matthew Murphy